


The Importance of Stretching

by draculard



Series: Comfortween [14]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Afe Clan (Star Wars), Age Difference, But played for laughs, Eli is a little shit and it's his time to shine, Firefights, Fluff and Humor, Helping Someone Dress, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Injuries, Momma Bird Prompt, Soreness, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: There are few times that Eli gets to feel superior to Thrawn.This is one of those times.
Relationships: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Series: Comfortween [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946224
Comments: 11
Kudos: 74
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	The Importance of Stretching

There were few times that Eli felt superior to Thrawn — and this particular instance wasn’t exactly fair, since it was beyond either of their control — but after the Afe clan firefight, Eli (who was twenty-three and always did well on his PT tests) sprang back to his feet without a problem. No soreness, no stiffness, no aches and pains.

Meanwhile...

Thrawn (who always did _outstanding_ on his PT tests, but was at _least_ twenty years older than Eli) did not ‘spring.’

There was a solid thirty seconds after the firefight where Thrawn stayed where he was, flat on his stomach with his arms extended at an uncomfortable angle to shoot past the blockade. Eli was already up and walking by the time Thrawn rolled to his feet with a quiet grunt, his face tightening slightly as he stood. Eli watched Thrawn straighten his back in silent amusement; he hadn’t noticed the little signs of strain in Thrawn when they first met, but over time, he’d grown used to them and learned how to suss them out. Regular people groaned and limped when something went wrong; Thrawn just moved slightly slower, and a little more stiffly.

And sometimes, if he was really sore, he grunted.

Like just now.

“Alright, sir?” Eli asked him, trying not to sound too chipper. “Not injured, are you?”

Thrawn shot him a dry look. “I’m fine, Ensign.”

Eli smiled and nodded. Internally, with viciousness, he remembered how one time at the Academy, Thrawn had somehow pulled a muscle simply by folding his arms beneath his head while he was resting. Maybe Chiss aged differently than humans, but that didn’t mean Eli couldn’t delight in calling Thrawn an old man.

Mentally, of course.

Not out loud.

 _Never_ out loud.

“You’re really not injured, sir?” Eli asked, softening his voice a bit as Thrawn fell in step next to him. Thrawn, who was in the middle of rolling his shoulder with a grimace, paused and shook his head as if nothing was wrong.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Truly. Thank you for your concern.”

And for the rest of the mission, Eli didn’t bring it up — or even think about it — at all.

The next day, however...

“Sir,” said Eli, knocking patiently on Thrawn’s door. “You’re going to be late to the bridge.”

He knew Thrawn was awake; he could hear him shuffling around inside, and even occasionally muttering under his breath. But he hadn’t answered the door the first time Eli knocked, and he wasn’t answering it now.

With a sigh, Eli pulled out his comlink and keyed it to Thrawn’s code. “Sir,” he said, holding it to his lips. “You — are — going — to — be — late!”

Thrawn didn’t answer the comm, but Eli _definitely_ heard a sigh from the other side of the door. He was just raising his hand to knock again when he heard Thrawn hit the door release on the other side. 

The hatch slid open. Thrawn was not on the other side — apparently he’d hit the release and then retreated as fast as he could.

“Sir?” Eli called, stepping inside. He jumped when Thrawn stepped forward from the side of the hatch, less than a foot away from Eli.

He barely had time to process the fact that Thrawn was shirtless before Thrawn leaned past him to close the door.

“Ensign,” said Thrawn levelly.

Eli stepped back, studying Thrawn. He was wearing his uniform pants, but nothing else. No socks, no boots, no undershirt or tunic. Eli gave Thrawn’s unfairly-well-defined pecs and abs and … well, everything … a quick, cursory glance.

“Sir,” he said carefully. When Thrawn only gave him a grim stare, Eli added, “You’re not even dressed yet.”

“No,” said Thrawn.

There was a long pause.

“I am…” Thrawn started delicately. “...having problems…”

Eli waited, widening his eyes in an exaggerated show of patience.

“...lifting my arms above my head,” Thrawn admitted. 

Eli looked down at Thrawn’s bare feet.

“And bending over,” Thrawn said with a grimace. Eli raised his eyebrows, thinking, _This is what he gets for not stretching before the mission._ But before he could say anything, Thrawn groused at him, “I’m not taking comments, Ensign.”

“Understood,” said Eli. He circled Thrawn, staring at his abs for perhaps longer than was socially acceptable. But he couldn’t help it. They were so well-defined it was like Thrawn had taken a blue graphmarker and _drawn_ them on. Thrawn spun in a slow circle, his eyebrows furrowed as he kept up with Eli, who just kept walking around him.

“Ensign?” said Thrawn.

Eli stopped, shaking his head. “You’re not flexing, are you?”

“Flexing?” said Thrawn.

“Nevermind, sir.” Of course he wasn’t. Of course Thrawn just casually had visible abs when he wasn’t flexing. Eli turned away from him with an irritated huff and located the rest of Thrawn’s uniform laid out on a neatly-made bed.

He walked to it and picked up Thrawn’s undershirt. Thrawn didn’t follow him; he stayed near the doorway with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. 

“What are you doing?” he asked Eli, cocking his head.

“Uh, helping you?” Eli replied, narrowing his eyes. He draped the undershirt over his hands. “Or did you plan on calling off sick because you couldn’t get your shirt on?”

Thrawn didn’t respond, and his face was so unreadable that Eli began to think maybe that was _exactly_ what he’d planned to do. He shook out the undershirt with an exasperated sigh.

“Well, come here,” he said.

Slowly, almost warily, Thrawn approached him. His eyes were locked on Eli as if he were some sort of strange wild animal and Thrawn was the brave documentarian watching him to learn how his species interacted with the world around it. Eli endured this just long enough for Thrawn to join him by the side of the bed.

“Okay,” he said, scrunching up the undershirt so there was a direct line between the helm and the collar. “Bow your head.”

Thrawn did so, giving Eli a close-up view of his irritatingly well-styled blue-black locks. There wasn’t a single damn strand out of place. Eli pushed the undershirt over Thrawn’s head, making sure to muss his hair as he did so, and then paused with the undershirt halfway on, the material caught on Thrawn’s ears.

With his head still bent and his face now hidden in black fabric, Thrawn said, “What is it?”

Eli didn’t answer right away.

“Ensign?” said Thrawn.

“Oh, it’s nothing, sir,” said Eli, making sure his voice sounded as awkward as he could make it. He could feel Thrawn go absolutely still. Carefully, Eli took one hand off the undershirt and trailed his fingers lightly through Thrawn’s hair. “Do you have some sort of skin condition?” he asked innocently.

Thrawn jolted, his hand shooting up to touch the spot Eli had just indicated. “What?”

“It’s just—” Eli smacked Thrawn’s hand away. “It’s just looking a little thin on top, sir.”

“ _What_?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eli said, biting back a smile. He shoved the undershirt down to Thrawn’s neck, uncovering wide red eyes and a blatantly horrified expression. 

“It’s not thinning,” Thrawn said. “I’ve only just combed it. I would have noticed—”

“If you say so, sir,” said Eli. He deliberately laced a thread of doubt into his voice. “Here, let me help you with the arms—”

“Men in my family don’t go bald,” said Thrawn earnestly. Eli reached for his arm, but Thrawn moved it out of his grasp, grimacing as he lifted it to touch the crown of his skull again and feel his own hair. 

He didn’t have any trouble lifting his arms above his head now, Eli noted. Aloud, adopting a cheerful tone, he only said, “Well, maybe you won’t go _entirely_ bald, sir.” 

He grabbed Thrawn’s arm and forced it back down, bending it at the elbow so he could get it through the undershirt’s sleeve. Thrawn let Eli manipulate his limbs one at a time, a troubled look on his face.

“What do you mean?” he asked as Eli straightened the hem of his undershirt for him.

“Well,” said Eli haltingly, as if he hadn’t already decided exactly what he was going to say to fuck with Thrawn. “I mean, as you age, everyone’s hair gets a little thin. Even if you don’t go entirely bald.”

Thrawn’s hand shot back up to his head at once, but his eyes stayed locked on Eli.

 _It just figures,_ Eli thought, _that he doesn’t get anxious in a battlefield, but the moment you mention baldness…_

“As you age, certainly,” said Thrawn. He watched as Eli gathered up his tunic. “But I’m not…”

Eli stopped, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m not,” Thrawn protested.

“Sure,” said Eli lightly. “Now let me help you put your tunic on, sir.”

Thrawn shot him a sour look. He stayed silent as Eli worked his arms through the sleeves for him, only wincing occasionally as his soreness flared up. Eli circled around until he was standing in front of Thrawn again so he could do up the sealing strip on the tunic. When he was done, Eli pushed Thrawn gently until he was sitting on the bed and then knelt before him, pulling his socks on and tying his boots for him. By the time he finished, Thrawn's expression was pensive and far away, like he was having a silent breakdown.

“Cheer up, sir,” said Eli, patting Thrawn on the shoulder. Thrawn looked at him doubtfully, so Eli smiled as brightly as he could and said, “You look good, really. For your age.”

Thrawn muttered something under his breath that definitely wasn’t Sy Bisti, and _definitely_ didn’t sound nice. He was still gingerly searching for thin spots in his hair as they left his quarters and headed for the bridge.

Maybe that would teach him to stretch before battle next time, Eli thought.


End file.
